to fight for what is mine
by Writer of a Thousand Colors
Summary: In the wake of her parents' murder, Elsa is left head of the Royals family, the largest gang in New York. Pitch Black and his gang are slowly closing in on her territory, the Guardians are baffling, Anna doesn't understand that hair ribbons are a gang symbol and Rapunzel has no problem with murdering people. 1920s Gangster AU.
1. Chapter 1

It is usually quite safe to say that nothing will happen on Wednesday nights, especially languid, humid ones in the middle of July, even in New York City. The air is sticking to every move Jack makes, pressing at the sides of his lungs, pawing at his skin. He is draped over the couch, flopped artlessly – were it cooler, he would be posing best as he knows how; even Bunny has commented that if they should ever have to come by funding through modeling, Jack is their best bet. But now his beauty is the last thing on his mind. There is the inescapable press of summer instead, and it has sucked out his energy and his intellect, leaving him a shell.

Jack has winter in his bones and on his skin - white as snow with eyes like artic ice; he truly is not made for the warm months of the city.

He is sticky and crabby, but no more so than the rest of the Guardians. Toothania has taken to skulking in front of the one working floor fan, her flock of loyal, rescued street children scattered around her in wilting petals, their multicolored shirts clinging to their sweating bodies as they doze. North vanished hours back, grumbling about New York's summer heat, how it was never this bad in Russia. Sandy is the only unaffected; but nothing much ever seemed to bother him. Jack can hear him clattering around in North's kitchen, riffling through the limited stocks of tea and the ample supply of vodka. He is a little tempted to yell for a bottle, but that requires effort and Jack isn't sure he has that available.

Bunny bursts through the door, silver streaked black hair sticking up in points around his huge ears. He looks oddly shocked – combined with his tattoos, this makes him seem even more like the creature he gets his name from. Toothania makes a flopping motion that might be a wave; it is aborted halfway through as she sinks back into a lazy heap on the floor.

"Ulf and Matilda Arendelle of the Royals are dead," Bunny announces, voice rough. Jack suddenly finds the ability to sit up straight. The air chills, and suddenly he feels distinctly cold.

A crashing in the kitchen means that Sandy heard. He appears in the doorway, golden hair sticking to his lined forehead. His hands flit in his own quiet language, and Bunny, a bit desperately, shrugs.

"Not sure. The Groundhog saw it, not me, and you know how reliable he can be. But it sounded like it's Pitch's work. Said the shot came out of the shadows just as they were leaving their apartment. Bled out before the ambulance made it a block – Groundhog is speculating about them adding some chemical to the bullets that stops the blood from clotting."

"Fuck. Like his Nightmares weren't bad enough." Toothania has not moved from her position in front of the fan. Her multicolored hair flops in the weak breeze it provides. From his place on the couch, Jack can see the way her fingers lightly rest over her belt, where she keeps thin, razor sharp butterfly knives, ready to use them at a moment's notice. "Are you sure?"

"As certain as I can be." Bunny glances around, sucking in a breath for a question he loathes asking. "Where's North?"

"Out. Not sure when he'll be back." Toothania purses her lips. "Who's the heir?"

Sandy reappears; Jack had not even noticed him leave. He pads silently across the creaking floor to hold out a half full glass of whiskey – not Bunny's favorite drink, but it works in a pinch. In the flickering light coming down in between rotations from their breaking ceiling fan, the alcohol looks like molten gold, the same color as Sandy's eyes. The shadows it casts across Bunny's tattoos when he takes it are fluid and fast changing. Like their lives. Something about death makes him melancholic and prosaic, perhaps.

Bunny takes a gulp, wincing. Jack sympathizes. He never liked whiskey himself. Now, vodka – that he understands. The burn in a good one is as powerful as a blizzard, as chilling as the winters back home in Minnesota. He could do with one right now, but maybe later. News of the Arendelles ranks higher than intoxication, at least for tonight.

Bunny sets the glass down on the table and takes a moment in inhale, washing down the bitter taste with foul-tasting air. "The eldest, Elsa," he says, pushing the meat of his palms against his blue eyes. "She's the unknown element in the family. Anna, we know about – she's in university, studying English. Good kid, if naïve. I doubt we'd have many problems if she were the one in charge. But Elsa…there's rumors she died years back, because no one has seen her in public since she was six. This is a complete blank."

"I wonder if she'll hold to the agreements we've made," Toothania muses. Her fingers anxiously twist her hair into a plait that snakes behind her ears, then shift to dislodge the child sprawled across her lap so she can gracefully rise to her feet and her unimpressive height of five feet. "I'll have to try to get in touch with the family..."

"Don't call Anders; from what Groundhog suggested, he's probably dead too," Bunny says warningly.

Toothania scowls and Sandy disappears back into the kitchen, probably to get her a whiskey of her own. Sandy's defense plan in the face of anger is to get everyone drunk, and then work out what to do on his own. Usually, it works, but they have never had to contend with something of this magnitude before. "So what do you want me to do? We've got to move on this fast. Besides the Royals, we're the biggest family in town, and Pitch has been after us for years."

"I keep saying we should bring the fight to them," Jack calls over from the couch, and Bunny and Toothania whip their heads to glare at him. "Don't give me those looks. He's been gathering weapons for months. It's not like we didn't know he was up to something big. The other families are nervous too, especially with the rumors that Pitch is going to join up with the Witch."

"You're the youngest-"

"But that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about." He would stand up, but that would show Bunny he is angry, so Jack decides to remain indolently draped across the couch. "There's been warning signs for months. Pitch is getting bolder. Remember the guns warehouse fire last month? Or the assassination of all those officials we trusted to look the other way. Not to mention the destruction of North's workshop." He does sit up more, his spine popping as he straightens. Showing Bunny he does not fear him is always important, but some respect would be for the best if he wants to get his point across. "We have to do something about this. The truce with the Royals is a start, but it's not enough. We have to drive Pitch out and reestablish ourselves as the top family."

Toothania and Bunny are eerily silent, which is something that is nerve wracking when they're in it together. They do not even glance at each other – Bunny stares at the whorls in the kitchen table, and Toothania at the window overlooking the busy streets, like she'll find the answer in the headlights of the cars going by below. Her street children's breathing is the only sound for a long moment.

The clink of Sandy setting down a glass and a couple bottles – one of whiskey and another vodka – on the table is abrupt enough that everyone startles. Sandy's smile is apologetic, and he gestures for Jack to come over, holding up the vodka for him to see.

He waves it off. "Not tonight, buddy." Sandy nods, and settles down into the chair besides Toothania. He has a bottle of pear cider in front of him, sweating in the heat.

Bunny snatches the whiskey bottle and pours himself a shot. His mouth works, as if the taste of the alcohol mixed with the words within him is fighting to get out. "…You do have some valid points there, I suppose."

Jack feels his eyebrows creep upwards. Bunny is capitulating surprisingly quickly. "…and?"

"But we don't know the full situation yet," Toothania continues, picking up the vodka and examining the label contemplatively. Vodka is not her thing, like whiskey isn't Bunny's – she prefers gin, or rum mixed with lime. But vodka works well enough for her in a pinch. Jack just hopes they have orange juice in the refrigerator; she always wants that by her second shot. "We should find out what exactly happened to the Arendelles, who the heir is – because Bunny's right, we're not even sure if Elsa is still alive – and then get North's input." She leans back in her chair and pulls one of the empty glasses towards her. From the quirk of her lips, Jack gathers that she is as disappointed with the inaction as he is. It has been a while since any of them got down and dirty with anything.

"Eleanor probably knows, the old busybody," Bunny offers. Sandy nods, and his hands fly again. Bunny clucks his tongue and snaps his fingers. "The Leprechaun, too. He owes me a favor – call it in for this. I was going to use it to get ahold of some decent rum, not some crappy moonshine, but what the hell."

"So…does that mean we're going to do anything about it tonight?" Jack glances at the bottles and the glasses, the way Sandy is chugging down his cider, and the look Bunny shoots at the whiskey, like he should just forget about the glass and take the bottle.

Toothania pours herself the first shot and swings it down without a wince. Jack knew there was a reason she's his favorite. "I'm going to call up our contacts and see if I can get the full story out," she says, getting to her feet and heading over towards their phone, slightly battered from when Bunny once threw it down the stairs during an argument with North. "Then, I am going to get properly drunk. Sandy and Bunny can explain to North what happened whenever he deigns to show up."

"What – don't make me explain this!" Bunny cries, aghast. "I had to tell you guys what was up; my part's done!"

Toothania pauses, her right hand on the phone, the other resting on the notebook where she keeps important details and numbers. Jack has never met another person with purple eyes besides her. He wonders if they all look as hard as crystals and as poisonous as belladonna as hers do. "Bunnymund," she says, her voice very even, "I am going to call up everyone and get the full story. Then I will drink at least half that bottle of vodka. Whenever North comes back, you will tell him what happened. If you don't, my Teeth will be quite happy to hide all of your lovely guns."

Scowling, Bunny settles back into his chair. "Witch."

"That would be Gothel's title, I'm just the Tooth Fairy," she says drily as she dials. "Hey Eleanor, it's Fairy. Do you know what happened with the Royals…"

Sandy, in his silent way, laughs into his drink, and Jack cracks a smile. Bunny, fuming, gives up on the glass and takes the bottle instead.

Toothania talks quietly on the phone for long enough that Jack's eyes slip shut and he is starting to drift off, lost in the pleasant haze where he can pretend he is at home in Minnesota in December, getting ready for Christmas, instead of in New York in July. Toothania slamming down the phone and letting out such a torrent of curses that the children wake up has him bolting upright, rubbing at his eyes. "…wazzup? Find out anythin'?"

"It was definitely Pitch," she growls, throwing herself back into her seat. Sandy doesn't bother with the niceites and just pushes the vodka into her hands. "Bastard. The Arendelles are most definitely dead, and Leprechuan said that there was black sand all over them."

Sandy hisses; one of the few sounds he has been able to make since Pitch claimed his tongue five years ago. Bunny's hand settles on his arm, but still he is so tense that Jack wouldn't be surprised if his muscles ache from the strain of it, come morning. Toothania just takes a deep swig from the bottle. Vodka dribbles down the side of her mouth and she doesn't bother to wipe at it as it drips onto her rainbow sweater.

"Anything else?" Jack asks, after a few moments go by.

"Yeah." Her voice is hoarse now, raspy and tired. "Elsa is alive and is taking over the family. Neither Eleanor nor the Leprechaun know much about her, but Hiccup said she's very quiet, very reserved. Unlike Anna, she's not very flighty, and is fairly logical. Sounds like she's the brains in the family. She'll most likely be more reasonable than Ulf and a bit more cautious than Matilda – she is new to this, after all, and doesn't know what to expect."

"Wait, how does that shrimp know she's alive if no one else did?" Jack demands, pushing himself up.

"His girlfriend Astrid used to work as a mercenary, and the Arendelles hired her from time to time. She was one of the candidates when the two girls were getting bodyguards," Toothania replies, rolling her eyes. Macho posturing; Jack seems intent on engaging Hiccup in it. Sad; he's a sweetheart. Sweeter than most in their business. She suspects he is only in it because of his father. She takes another drink. The burn is almost unpleasant, clawing at her throat, and she fights the urge to cough. Sandy notices – he notices everything – and gets up to slip into the kitchen. She hopes he's getting her the orange juice. "I'll have to call the Royals. We need that truce, especially if Jack is right-"

"Which I _am._"

"Shut_ up_, Jack. If Jack is right and Pitch is gearing up for something big, we will need the Royals. They're more likely to help, especially now." Sandy comes scuttling back out of the kitchen, clutching the carton of orange juice. He sets it in front of her and she shoots him a grateful, strained smile. "Anyway, that about concludes it for tonight," she announces, splashing a generous amount of both juice and vodka into her glass. "I did all the work, so I'm going to get drunk now."

"I don't want to be the one to tell North all this," Bunny grouses, swirling the remainder of the whiskey around the bottle.

"Well, sucks to be you. I'm running merchandise this week; this is the only break I'm getting until Sunday, especially with this crisis. Now shut up, Bunny Rabbit."

"Tooth-"

"Sandy, make sure the children get fed," she orders, swinging her feet up on top of the table and crossing them at the ankle. "Jack, you're due at the docks for delivery at eight tomorrow."

"Dammit," he groans, settling back into the sagging couch, flopping his arms over his face. "Why eight? I'll have to get up at six to be there on time."

"And if you lose this delivery, I'm not going to defend you to North," Toothania adds. Jack groans again, louder, and falls sideways across the stained couch pillows. "Now all you shut up, I want to drink in peace. People died today and that's enough to earn me some alone time with this vodka."


	2. Chapter 2

She looks pale, but then again she always does. It is the bags under her eyes that worry her – they are much, much darker than they usually are. They make the ice blue of her irises very stark, a contrast against the white and platinum that composes her coloring. The nearly-silver, rough strands of her hair fight against the smooth braid she has forced them into; pieces push through her careful work to stand on end as if she has been electrified.

Elsa stares at herself in the mirror, and wonders if she should attempt to put on some blush.

"You look fine," Rapunzel offers from the doorway, half hidden in the shadows, long blonde hair disappearing down the hallway. Elsa nearly startles; a shriek almost manages to get out before she strangles it. Rapunzel chuckles, and edges into the room, her bare feet barely rasping against the stone floor. It was a special design – in the winter, it was always warm to the touch, due to the creative engineering of the architects, who included piping to waft warm air under all the rooms. Now that the oppressive heat of summer is upon them, it doesn't do much but add to the atmosphere. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"I'm sure." Where is Anna? School, most likely. She still thinks that the Arendelles are just traders, that mother and father were just attacked by an angry client – something to do with imports and tariffs. Flynn, Rapunzel's husband, had made it all very vague and confusing, even to someone as seasoned in his bullshit as Elsa is. At the first mention of _economics _and _international trading laws_, Anna's eyes had started to glaze over. She wouldn't be questioning this, not for a while longer. For that, Elsa was endlessly glad. Someone in this corrupted, dying family deserved to keep their innocence a while yet.

"Well, you know me. Can't keep my nose out of things for the life of me." Rapunzel slides up to her, and her hands gently trace over her messy braid. "You want me to redo this?"

"If you would be so kind…" She has never been sure on how to treat Rapunzel, who is suppose to be her bodyguard, but is so willowy and delicate that it almost seems like she needs the protection instead. Flynn says it's all part of the disguise. Elsa has never been sure what that's suppose to mean, but now that she is the head of the family she will most likely find out.

The thought is still enough to freeze her lungs and still her heart; the fact that she is now the head and her parents are no longer there to provide the illusion of safety any longer. Elsa isn't sure what she wanted out of life, but she is fairly certain that it didn't include heading a crime family before her twenty fifth birthday.

Rapunzel's thin fingers gently tug the tie out from the end of Elsa's braid and work through the tangles before she reaches for the brush. "You forgot your ribbon."

The silver and blue ribbon lies coiled on top of her dresser; she cannot bear to look at it for more than a moment. Flynn had presented it to her at breakfast just yesterday, with enough pomp and ceremony to make Elsa think he expected her to be pleased with its introduction into her life. Anna had fairly shrieked with delight upon seeing it. "Elsa, it's so beautiful! Put it in, right now!"

Anna, she had to remind herself, doesn't understand the significance, didn't know why dread made her fingers shake as she slowly lifted it out of the box Flynn had placed besides her plate. She had tied it into a terrible, loose bow at the end of her braid and had removed it the moment Anna had left for school.

Anna has never been allowed to wear hair ribbons. It is too dangerous. Elsa saw the longing look she had shot the ribbon, when she thought Elsa was too absorbed in her morning coffee – black, with two scoops sugar, no cream – to notice, but she had. She asked Flynn to keep a very close eye on her younger sister. This is not the right time for Anna's petty rebellions; Elsa knows any fallout from her sister putting in a hair ribbon now will not be pretty.

Rapunzel carefully pins one end of the ribbon near the roots of Elsa's platinum blonde hair, and begins to work it into a braid that sweeps over the top of her head like a tiara. Admittedly, the ribbon suits her. Blue and silver have always been her colors. But there is something different about this ribbon, something cold and hard that makes nerves twist her stomach into knots. When she had merely been the heir, her ribbon had been simple – thin, and a creamy white. It blended into her hair more often than not, and had been plain enough that Anna had never thought to be jealous.

Times change, she supposes. She wishes it hadn't begun with a bullet in the alleyway. It's not a good omen, but then again, in her life, few things are.

Rapunzel's fingers graze over the shell of her ear as she fixes the last few pins in place, tucking a few wayward strands into her braid. "There. It's a little better, at least."

An understatement. She looks older now. Having her hair up shows the hard lines of her cheekbones, makes her look confident and at least slightly sure of herself. That might be enough to get her through today. "Thank you," she says quietly, and chews at the inside of her cheek. Rapunzel smiles at her in the mirror. She looks relaxed and assured – but then again, she is paid to do so.

"Merida's in place, in case the Guardians try to start something," she tells her, taking a few graceful steps back. "She has her gun at the ready. Don't worry; she's watching your back, closely as she ever does."

That is actually fairly reassuring. Merida has the eyes of the hawk and the conscious of a natural predator – she would not hesitate to kill someone, if Elsa was being threatened. There are worse people she could have as a sniper.

"Where is the meeting?" she asks, turning her head to glance up at her companion and friend. Rapunzel smiles gently at her, encouraging as she can be.

"Mom's Diner. Neutral territory. Plus it's out of the way – I doubt Pitch would ever deign to go near the place. Flynn thinks it has cockroaches, but he's banned from the premises."

"Lovely." She wrinkles her nose, and Rapunzel giggles again, in that delighted, childish way she has. At times, she seems even younger than Anna, who is not yet even eighteen. How on earth is she suppose to protect Elsa Arendelle, head of New York's largest, most influential crime family? Sometimes, that is as much of a mystery to Elsa as the fact that people expect her to lead, and lead well. "Who gave the recommendation? Merida?"

"Yes, actually. Her parents used to meet the Guardians there themselves, when they were younger – before they retired. Long time ago, you understand. But from what she told me, the place hasn't changed that much. She says don't trust the coffee, though. They're not that careful where they leave the rat poison."

"Mm. I'll make sure to keep that in mind." She sits there quietly, watching the faint light from her flickering bulb play across the metallic ribbon woven into her hair. There is nothing more she needs to do – she looks regal and efficient, like her mother did when she went to meetings with the other bosses. But Elsa finds she is reluctant to get up, hesitant to go and make this reality true. If she sits here a while yet, perhaps she can pretend this is a bad dream and mother and father will be in shortly to wake her – that she is still only having theoretical lessons in running a crime empire, not a practical, day-to-day, never ending exam.

"You alright?" Rapunzel asks softly. Her hand is very gentle when she rests it on Elsa's shoulder. "Elsa? I can go get some tea or something…"

She blinks rapidly – to her alarm, her eyes are burning. It wouldn't do to cry, not on her first real day, and not in front of an underling, if Rapunzel could be called that. "I'm fine," she snaps, brushing the back of her hand over her face. "Truly. Please give me a moment, though. I'll meet you at the car."

There is a soft inhale, as if Rapunzel is drawing breath to contradict her words, but she holds it and then lets it out in a quiet whoosh. "Okay," she says kindly. "But I'm still getting you that tea. Is peppermint good?"

"Whatever you want," Elsa replies, and gods, her voice is hoarse. She cannot be falling to pieces, not today – she has too much relying on her staying strong to allow for that. "Just – five minutes, Rapunzel, please. And please make sure Flynn is keeping an eye on Anna."

"Of course."

The door clicks gently shut behind her.

She stares at herself in the mirror again.

She is twenty four years old, slightly anemic and is lactose intolerant. She has a sister named Anna who studies English and she has never been to a public school. She can pick twenty kinds of locks and knows forty ways to kill someone with the items on her dresser. She can blow up a bridge and direct European drug trade and get ahold of the British crown jewels in a week, if she wanted them badly enough.

She is Elsa Arendelle of the Royals, and in the wake of her parents' murder she has become one of the most important people in the world, whether the world knows that or not. That knowledge – while not necessarily pleasurable – is enough for her to square her shoulders and raise her chin, eyes flashing, ribbon catching the light.

She is an Arendelle. She is a Royal. She has Anna. Those are reasons enough to kill for, and for this, she has trained all her life.

Gracefully, she gets to her feet, tucking away everything negative, everything that calls for her to curl up on her bed and never leave, and opens the door.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't like diners much – the booths are always slightly too small for him, and the table is pressed up against his ample stomach. He feels too exposed, even pressed up in the corner by the wall such as they are. The waitresses keep shooting him suspicious looks from behind the register, talking in low voices. This diner has been a standard meeting point between New York's families for years, which means the waitstaff is both disinclined to trust any of their customers and the cops keep strolling by outside. Bunny is settled by the door, staring balefully at anyone who looks like they would think of lingering, flipping a knife from hand to hand all the while. Jack has vanished – most likely, he has taken his rifle and gone to find a good hiding place, in case the Royals think of starting something.

North has been in this business to know that young Elsa probably has a sniper of her own, waiting and watching somewhere just out of sight, but he tries to not let the thought get to him as he settles back into the cracked seats and nurses a mug of coffee – they had brought it from home; he never trusts people with his drinks outside their apartment. He has survived too many assassination attempts for that. The air is slick and greasy; combined with the humidity, this means there is a faint sheen stretched over everything in sight. Everyone will be taking showers, once they get out of here.

Toothania is running late enough that she probably will not make it, running merchandise to their customers on city limits, so her usual position as second in command for negotiations has been taken over by Sandy. He sits carefully in his seat, pressed up between North and the wall, looking like he would rather not be touching anything in the diner. He does not even glance at the burned toast with the smear of fake butter in front of him; instead, he is studying the mold in the gap between their booth and the stained wallpaper with a vaguely incredulous look, like he cannot believe this place is still in business. It's something North himself has wondered often, throughout the years.

Sandy glances up at him and his hands slowly shift through a quiet question. North takes another sip of his coffee. "No. We are early. Is good. Gives us advantage." Sandy's lips purse, and he goes back to examining the mold with disgust very evident on his golden features. He clearly would rather they spend as little time in this place as possible.

There is a soft tapping against the glass – one-two-three. Bunny must have seen Elsa coming. North sits up straighter, and Sandy tears his gaze away from the mold as the diner's bell tingles quietly and the door opens enough to blast the late July heat into the room, washing away any work done by the fans.

Elsa Arendelle is very thin and frail looking, with the ribbon denoting her rank as head almost lost in the platinum of her hair. Odd. Her sister is a redhead and both her parents had dark hair; North wonders where her fairness comes from. She looks cool and collected, calm and confident, as she carefully steps over the threshold, holding her floor length skirt up like she would rather it not touch the stained tiles. It is immediately clear that Hiccup's assessment was correct: she is almost nothing like absent-minded, flighty Anna Arendelle. She is followed by a young blonde woman with hair as long as she is tall, held up with five or six red ribbons and two green ones.

North has never been certain on the Royal's system, but the meaning of the red ribbons has long been one he is aware of – one ribbon per person killed. His eyebrows rise. The blonde woman is as delicate as Elsa herself, with cherubic cheeks and large eyes – there is even a smattering of freckles dusting her nose. She looks no older than nineteen and as dangerous as a cowardly Chihuahua. But then again, Toothania is much the same, and North has seen her cut through hamstrings and rip out jugulars and sleep perfectly well at night. Looks are very deceiving. He resolves to keep a close eye on the blonde – and her head turns towards him very slightly, lips curved up at the edges, like she knows what he is thinking.

Sandy inhales sharply, and North knows that he has realized the same thing he has just been dwelling on – the young blonde woman with her bright green eyes is probably the most dangerous person in the diner and would have absolutely no problem with killing them, should the situation require it. Not for the first time, he wishes that Toothania were here.

The head of the Royals takes a moment to scope out the diner. North knows the move is deliberate – she is almost screaming at him how much of a threat she is not, which puts him more on edge than ever. He takes another sip of the coffee, wishing that Sandy had thought to bring vodka along.

"Mister North," Elsa says finally, glancing over, eyebrows raised. She dips a curtsey, graceful and elegant. North cannot tell if it's suppose to be mocking, but he can admit that Elsa has more backbone than he would have initially thought. "Thank you for meeting me here."

He slides out of the booth – he towers over her, like he does many people. His hand almost entirely engulfs her. She does not look alarmed in the slightest, tilting her head defiantly back to meet his eyes. "No, Miss Arendelle," he booms, almost crushing the pencil-thin bones of her hand in his grip, "Thank _you_. Please, sit." He gestures to the table, and Sandy waves at them cheerfully. He tends to be a good bet to bring along to introductory meetings – no one can help liking Sandy. But the women barely look at him.

Elsa exchanges a glance with her companion, and the blonde gives her a barely perceivable nod. Elsa's lips tighten, and gingerly, she slides into the tacky seat opposite North and Sandy, settling back as best she can. The blonde woman throws herself down gracelessly, and offers a toothy grin towards North. He really does not trust her.

"So," North says, after a long moment, "Would you like to order something?"

"No, thank you," Elsa says, "I ate before I came. But I'm sure Rapunzel would. You didn't eat this morning."

"No, I didn't," the blonde woman agrees, and then waves for a menu to be brought over. She orders pancakes with blueberries and a cup of milk while North tries to not visibly study Elsa, and Elsa stares directly at him, as if she knows what he is trying to do and is wise enough to let him know it will not fly.

He waits for the waitress to stomp away before opening talks. "Congratulations on your new job," he offers, and Sandy nods, seconding the sentiment.

Elsa does not visibly show her thoughts – a problem. They should have brought Jack; he's better at reading the minutia of emotions. "Thank you. I understand that my parents had recently negotiated a truce with you and yours."

A statement, not a question. He almost curses. She is too aware, too up to date on everything that has happened between New York's various families. Whoever had said she would be naïve and uncertain had been very wrong. Elsa Arendelle knows exactly what she is doing. "Yes, well. I am hoping that certain unfortunate business will not prevent truce from being followed."

"It depends," Elsa says, her face carefully blank. "I am having trouble with some people. How can I trust you to keep your word, in the face of all the recent crises?"

"Oh, but we are having same trouble – with same people." He wonders if she is aware of the fire that took out their entire stock of weapons, or the destruction of his warehouse. The assassinations of sympathetic police officers and officials is public knowledge; only a fool would not know about those. "I think it would be good for us to be friends, especially in this time."

"Hm. Perhaps. Depends on what you are asking me for." No inflections, no visible twitching of her facial muscles. This woman has been well trained – she gives less away than her father ever did, and is less excitable than her mother. Getting anything from her that she does not want to give will be hard, if not downright impossible. Elsa leans back, blinking up at him through her fair eyelashes. It is very hard to believe she is one of the most powerful people in the world, when she looks as innocent and youthful as she does now.

Should he propose Jack's idea now, or wait? This is where Toothania would come in handy – she knows how to navigate difficult conversations. "Well. We are having idea of dealing with trouble. Our business is not going so well lately and the disappearance of certain people would be very welcome."

Elsa's eyebrows twitch, and Rapunzel's forehead furrows, lips tightening at the edges. He has shocked them, and that is almost enough to make him grin.

The waitress clomps back over, carrying a plate stacked with passable pancakes and a little boat filled with purple blueberry syrup, which she sets down in front of Rapunzel with a clatter, throwing silverware down besides it. The women take advantage of this distraction to exchange another look, silently debating, before Elsa turns back.

"What are you proposing?" she asks neutrally.

"An alliance," he says immediately, leaning forward. "Pitch Black is getting bigger. He is getting braver. Recruits for his Nightmares is doubling. We are both suffering for it and it should not continue. Together, our families could drive him out. It would achieve the duel goal of revenge as well."

Elsa is quiet for a long moment, studying the table. Rapunzel has paused in cutting up her greasy pancakes and is looking at her worriedly. Sandy taps North on the arm and his hands dance. He is right, of course – if this was too abrupt and she leaves, they will be much worse off.

"I am not sure on the wisdom of an alliance, considering recent losses," she says at last, drawing out every word carefully. "For now, I will keep the truce." North starts to protest, but stops when she raises a hand. This woman should not be head of a crime family – she is meant to be a queen. "I will keep your proposal in mind, however. Give me a week's time, and I will have an answer for you. Because you are correct – Pitch Black is becoming more of a problem. However, I am not sure on the benefits of an all out war."

"But-"

She glares at him. Her eyes are so blue that it cuts him to the soul, and he falls silent without protest.

"This is the best I can offer for now," she says quietly. "But the truce will continue – that, I can promise. We shall meet here, this time next week. Come, Rapunzel." They stand, and Elsa throws a twenty on the cracking table, before offering him a terse smile. "Thank you for your time, Mister North."

He dips his head courteously. "Miss Arendelle."

The bell tinkles behind them as they leave, a cheerful little jangle. Bunny, sitting on the pavement, watches them go, then gets to his feet and pushes inside. He flops down in the booth, and pulls the rest of Rapunzel's pancakes towards him. "So what happened?"

"She will think on alliance," North says sourly, crossing his arms across his chest. "She is good. We were stupid to think she would be clueless. It is clear Ulf and Matilda have been training her for years, and she is not naïve like her sister."

Bunny looks up, syrup dripping down the side of his chin. "So…?"

"We return next week."

He dwells on this for a minute, and shrugs, taking another enormous bite. "Could have gone worse."

"Yes, well, could have gone better."

"Can't have everything, North. At least she looks competent."

"That is worry. If she is too good, she could handle Pitch on her own and then will take care of us."

Bunny freezes, eyes widening. "Oh. Shit. Didn't even think of that."

"Because you do not think, my friend." North stands up and raises his arms, cracking his neck. "Come. We should go home. I want to know what Tooth thinks on matter."

The waitress watches them go, and heaves a heavy sigh. "Least they tip well," she mutters, and moves to clear their plates.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna keeps trying to remind herself to breathe. It's supposed to be an automatic process – her biology teacher told her as much, even though she slept through most of his class and he ended up almost failing her. So why is it so hard to remember to inhale-exhale when Hans – oh _Hans – _keeps glancing at her over the stack of books piled between them with that curiously soft smile? His hair is sticking to his forehead, and goodness, she can see the sharp outline of his collarbone where his buttoned shirt clings to his chest…

She almost wishes she had sat somewhere else. Why on earth did she agree to a summer session? Why on earth did she sign up for a poetry class – which has never been her favorite subject? Why on earth was Hans in the same class? And how the hell are they sitting in the library together, fans creaking overhead, fingers occasionally brushing as he quietly asks for yet another sheet of paper – does he not have any of his own? It doesn't matter; she would throw the whole notebook at him if he asked for it. Or maybe not throw. Maybe pass it as coquettishly across as she can, fingers trailing on the inside of his strong wrist…

"Anna…?"

Shit, there's drool sliding down the side of her face. "Sorry! Sorry! I was…thinking about cake. Yeah. Hi! What do you want?"

He chuckles quietly, that low rumbling that makes her bones turn to jelly. There has to be something in the Bible against that. Maybe. She hasn't read the Bible; she isn't sure on much besides "Thou shalt not kill", but clearly whoever wrote that had never tried to get through William Faulkner.

"I was wondering if you were doing well. You seemed a million miles away; I was concerned."

She hadn't been. She had been six point three miles away, at the apartment, in her bedroom, on her lacey, soft bed. Preferably Hans would be there too.

"Oh. I'm just worried for the exam, I suppose. I don't actually like poetry much, I have no idea how I'll pass."

"It must be hard, especially with your parents..."

The knot in her throat was so abrupt that she almost choked, and the grief she had only just begun to push down pressed insistently at the cracks, begging to be let out. She had spent every night crying into her pillow, Rapunzel doing her best to hide the damage with makeup and her clever fingers in the morning, Flynn had been sneaking her little treats – chocolates and cookies he had filched from the kitchens; goodies Anna was not suppose to eat because Elsa thought she ate too badly.

Elsa.

Perhaps the only good thing that had come out of their parents' sudden deaths was the return of Elsa into her life. It wasn't like Elsa had left – but it was never like she was there. Anna knew, logically, that they had always lived under the same roof, eaten the same food, used the same washroom – and yet, for twelve years, Elsa had seemed more like a ghost, a rumor, a rattling breeze, than a person. Mother especially had been oddly insistent that Elsa remain in that halfway state - pulling her away from the large front windows overlooking the street, barring her from going out, hiring private tutors to teach her everything from physics to Russian. Father never actively supported this, but he did encourage it, training Elsa out of her childhood enthusiasm into the quiet, cautious stranger Anna found she hardly knew how to speak to. With their deaths, Elsa was finally taking her first tentative steps without them constantly hanging over her. Anna harbored hopes that perhaps her sister would join her in college, but Elsa seemed determined to take over the Arendelles' trading business instead.

They had eaten breakfast together all this week, with Elsa at father's usual position at the head of the table, and Anna silently dancing on the inside. True, the empty seat to the left of hers, where her mother should be sitting, was something she suspected would never not cause an ache to radiate from deep within her soul, but Elsa had smiled at her over her coffee cup just that morning, and told her she looked beautiful.

"Your sister's a good sort," Flynn had said on the way to dropping her off at the university. "Kids in the orphanage? Man, I grew up thinking being related to anyone would be _awful_. They pulled each other's hair and used each other's toothbrushes to clean the toilet – no, I'm not joking, and yes, it was gross so feel free to make a face. Elsa's good, though. Quiet."

"Father always said I was the rambunctious one," Anna replied, grinning, and Flynn had laughed and pulled her in to affectionately mess her hair.

"That I don't doubt for a minute, new penny."

Hans is still staring at her, worry present on his beautiful, beautiful face. God, he has lovely eyebrows. "I'm sorry; was that insensitive?"

She blinks away the burn and tries to force herself back into reality. It's difficult; most people think she doesn't even know what reality is. There are days when Anna suspects they're right. "No. Um, no. I'm…I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice low and deep with something Anna can't identify. "I don't know what I would do if I lost my parents. Especially my mother – she's the one who keeps my brothers in line." There is a wistful smile at the edges of his lips and it makes something warm and soft bubble in her chest. Everything about Hans seems to inspire this feeling.

"You have brothers?"

"Twelve. All older than me."

"…Ouch."

"I'm not sure how I survived, honestly." He shrugs a bit helplessly, weary amusement lingering on the edge of his expression. "There was a time...two of my older brothers – Mathias and Jonas; they're twins and three years older – well, they pretended I was invisible." He takes in a deep breath. "For two years straight."

"_No_," Anna gasps, scandalized.

Elsa did more or less the same thing, however. Maybe not pretending that Anna was invisible, but acting like she herself was, like she had ceased to be a person and had sunk down into the flowery wallpaper, become part of the drapes and floor lamps and that hideous carpet Aunt Frida insisted on sending over from Norway.

Hans laughs, quietly, and his broad shoulders shake. Anna sort of wants to pet them. She wonders if that is awkward. "Yes, they did. They would barge into the bathroom when I was using it, and take my plate when I was eating, and one time Mathias pretended not to see me when I was lying on my bed and jumped on top of me. I almost broke a rib. Mother finally spanked them both and made them apologize by buying me my first pocket watch – which they stole and later broke while trying to hypnotize the cook's dog."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He offers her that crooked half smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle just so. "It's in the past. Brothers will be brothers."

"Hm. I suppose. I don't know much about brothers. All I have is Elsa."

"And what's she like?" There is honest, naked curiosity in his expression – something Anna has never experienced. People never ask for her story, her life. It is a good feeling, having someone who wants to know about all the parts that make up who she is.

"Um. Cold. A bit. She was warmer when we were kids. Then…one day, father and mother took her aside, and she just…stopped." She pauses, wondering how best to explain all the changes after that day: how Elsa became quiet, reserved, withdrawn, how mother drew her away from the windows, the long lectures in father's office.

"Stopped?"

"Well, yeah. She didn't have time for her kid sister anymore, I guess." That pain is something that stays within her, even as the years pass – the rejection from her beloved, beautiful older sister. If the grief for her parents is anything like that pain, she will most likely be coping with it for the rest of her life. "I don't know. It hurt. A lot. But when I was…I guess fourteen? – my parents hired this couple to take care of us. Flynn and Rapunzel Ryder. Flynn's more or less my best friend; Rapunzel usually just tries to get Elsa to remember to do normal people things like sleep and eat."

The couple had appeared in their life out of the blue, but their presence was something Anna had never resented. Flynn was funny and kind, always willing to help her with her homework or tell her stories about growing up in the orphanage. Rapunzel was a bit more distant, but she was the best baker they had ever hired and could copy any hairstyle you showed her. She was good for Elsa too, willing to sit and help her plow through books on economics and international law and criminal justice at all hours of the day, and sometimes even managed to make her laugh. The fact that she could bake Elsa's favorite treat – double chocolate cookies with peppermint chunks – didn't hurt.

Hans must see something in her expression, because he just smiles and says, "Well, at least you have them."

"Yeah. I suppose." She looks at her book again, but finds that an understanding of poetry is going to prove more elusive than ever. With a sigh, she leans back in her seat. "Where are you from?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, the accent. You're not American."

"Oh." He seems a bit surprised. "I thought I told you. I'm Danish. Your family has probably had dealings with mine in the past – ask Elsa if you have ever had contact with the Jonassons."

"I think I will." She watches the golden afternoon sunlight, the way it catches at the coppery tones in his hair, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. "You're gorgeous."

He glances up at her, eyes wide. "What-"

Her mind catches up with her mouth. "Uh – I meant, the light's gorgeous! Um, yes. Yes. The light. So…light-y."

Maybe she is imagining it, but there seems to be a faint blush staining his glorious, high cheekbones. "Well…um, this might seem forward of me, perhaps…but…I think you're…" he trails off, coughs awkwardly, and she finds herself leaning forward, just a bit. "You're…very beautiful."

The heat in her cheeks is sudden and not unwelcome. "Oh. Thank you."

He smiles that shy, wonderful little smile. "Um…I've been wondering – for weeks now…" he pauses to draw breath, and Anna finds that her lungs have forgotten how to work, "Would you be welcoming to the idea of my courting you?"

The air leaves her in a rush, and she stares at him, mouth working. The quiet hope on his face fades into desperation, and he grabs roughly for his books, almost pushing over the table in his haste to stand. "I'm sorry, I just thought-"

"No!" Her hand flies out, lands on his arm. His muscles are gloriously taunt and she takes a moment to admire the flex underneath her fingers. "No, Hans. Please. I would…I would love for you to…court me."

Who says things like "courting" anymore anyway? That's not the point – focus, Anna.

He stares at her, tracing out her features with newly hopeful eyes. "Truly?" he breathes, and she cannot help the wide smile that breaks through.

"Yes."

He glances down at the table, grinning like a loon. "Then – as…would you take this? As a symbol of my affections." He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a hair ribbon, about a foot and a half in length. It is a dusky lavender, with four thin strands of deep scarlet running through it.

She has never been allowed a hair ribbon before – she has wanted one, for years and years, but mother and father never allowed her one. Elsa has a few, including a new lovely silver and blue one, but she has been upholding the family ban. Her hands are shaking as she reverently takes it from him. "Oh, Hans…"

"Here. I'll tie it at the end of your braid." She turns around, and the gentle rasp of his fingers against the soft skin at the back of her neck as he ties the ribbon in a bow is enough to make her shiver. She turns back, and he is smiling like he cannot stop. "Beautiful," he says. "You're beautiful."

She smiles back. Finally, for the first time in forever, things are going right for Anna Arendelle.


End file.
